


Don't Look at Me

by LysanderandHermia



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Penelope!au, and grantaire's still a drunk, enjolras has a pig's nose, i don't have any tags for this fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:06:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysanderandHermia/pseuds/LysanderandHermia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras has grown up with a hideous face, where no one will look him in the eyes because of his stupid fucking /nose/. It's just a pig's nose. Is it really that bad?</p><p>Grantaire, as usual, gives zero shits about anything.</p><p> </p><p>Or, the Penelope!AU that no one but my darling asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Look at Me

**Author's Note:**

> it's 2:15 and i'm watching casino royale aka my heartbreaking bond film so bye

Taking a deep breath, Enjolras stepped through the door for the millionth time to smile at the girl he'd been talking with about politics over the last hour, only to watch as she dropped her mug of tea, screaming, and turned tail and ran. He sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets, and glanced at himself in the mirror.

Long, golden hair that hit his shoulders in ringlets, beautiful bright blue eyes, a thin but wide and happy smile, and... right. His nose. He'd been born with a pig's nose on his face, that - as his mother said - turned his otherwise perfect face, hideous.

It was times like this she seemed right. Enjolras headed back into his room and flopped back down against his bed, pulling out a book to keep reading. This one was about the ethics of democracy, and it was fascinating. 

The next weeks passed the same, and Enjolras was /tired/. He found himself growing increasingly snappy with the women that were shown into the one way viewing room to talk with him while he sat behind a mirror, staring at them. It felt all too weird, and like the Phantom of the Opera. He felt like he was being creepy, and it was obvious anyone in the room felt awkward. It built up tension that shouldn't have been there. 

One evening, Enjolras was tapping away on his computer - currently on his homemade forum for like-minded individuals that felt strongly about the world and how oppressive and in need of change it was - when he heard some muffled cursing from the far side of his room, where the annex was. 

Approaching slowly, Enjolras watched as... who was he? A new hire of some sort, he supposed, hurriedly picked up the lamp he'd knocked over, setting it back and testing it worked. When it didn't, he swore again, glanced toward the door, and then sighed, taking out a flask from his pocket and taking a long swig.

"Drinking on the job isn't very desirable, you know," Enjolras commented after a moment, eyeing the scruffy individual up and down. He had dark circles underneath his eyes, which would be a rather pretty shade of green, if they weren't clouded by what seemed to be a rather lot of alcohol.

Alcohol, which was being spilled everywhere, as the man choked, surprised, as he looked wildly around. "Where the fuck are you, then?" He asked, startled, before his gaze settled on the mirror, and he glared into it.

Enjolras blinked, surprised, and then irritated, "I'm here, as you've guessed. If you're here to clean, you're supposed to be downstairs."

The man scoffed, and took another sip, "I felt like exploring. It's not every day I get to rummage around a fancy house." 

Staring, Enjolras found himself sitting down at the sill, watching the man as he held true to his word, poking around and ignoring the vacuum he'd brought with him, assumingly for cleaning purposes. He tipped his head to the side, curious. 

After a minute, he spoke up again, "Is this a disposable job to you, or...? Because I'll have you fired." 

The man laughed, turning towards the mirror from where he'd been tossing up and catching a small, expensive porcelain figurine, and shrugged, "Are you the mystery in this house, then? Because there's whispers, and I had to sign a gag order to work here. Who has their cleaners sign a gag order?"

He slid up to the window, raising an eyebrow at himself. "Just how good looking are you, then?" He asked, taking another swig.

Enjolras let out a choked laugh, "Excuse me?"

"How good looking _are_ you? I mean, I heard rumors when I started that you stay in the house because of your looks. So, like, is it a reverse Medusa kind of thing, where you are so beautiful people explode?"

He couldn't help but laugh again, shaking his head, "Uh, no. No, it's not like that at all," he said, giggling again, before continuing, "What even are you drinking?"

Glancing at the flask in his hand, the man smiled, before waggling it at the mirror, "You could guess." He took a sip again, "You could come try a sip."

Enjolras frowned, and sat back, "I think not. You should go." 

Frowning, the man screwed the cap back onto his flask and deliberately set it on the mantle in front of the mirror, raising an eyebrow. "My name is Grantaire. You can call me R, though, if you want." He went back to the vacuum, picking it up and calling over his shoulder, "I'll see you around!"

Enjolras scoffed, turning away and going back to his computer, muttering. "You certainly won't."

An hour later, he was sipping from the flask and consulting his online friends about what might be the mystery drink. 

\---

When the man came back a few days later, Enjolras was ready. As the man - Grantaire, he'd called himself - flopped down on the couch, Enjolras took a deep breath. "It's whiskey. I don't know what brand, but I'm positive it's whiskey." 

Grantaire grinned from where he was staring up at the ceiling, and raised his head, but instead of confirming or denying it, he simply spoke up, "Why didn't you get me fired like you promised?"

Enjolras hesitated, blinking. He wasn't sure, to be honest. Because the man was sarcastic? He was kind of funny? Cute, even? More than anything, though, he was a breath of fresh air. "You're weird," he said instead, after a long moment, not really answering, but it earned him a laugh.

"You're funny, I like that." Grantaire pulled a new flask from his jacket and sipped from it. "You want to see if you can get two for two?" He asked with a smile, before it fell slightly, "And please don't just get mad again. Everyone around here is so uptight."

Staring at Grantaire through the mirror, who honestly looked a little earnest, Enjolras sighed. "I can't come out there," he finally said, trying to force the sadness out of his tone.

Laughing again, Grantaire rolled his eyes, "Oh, not this again, with the gorgeous, literal-drop-dead looks. Come on, if you're that worried, I'll like, close my eyes or something." As if sensing the raised eyebrow that was on Enjolras' face, he added, "Or, okay, a blindfold? Come on, just have a drink with me."

It was an awful idea, but somehow, he found himself sitting gingerly on the couch next to the scruffy, dark haired Grantaire, taking the flask out of his proffered hand, the man's scarf tied tightly around his eyes so he couldn't see. "You're either the vainest man I've ever met, or you're the most afraid."

Enjolras huffed, and took a big drink, choking down the liquid. It was different this time, and he had no idea what it was. Grantaire sniggered softly, reaching out to take it back, and took a sip. "Any guesses?" He asked, fiddling with the flask, though his head was turned towards Enjolras. 

"Vodka." It was a total stab in the dark, and he knew it was wrong as the words left his mouth.

"God, you really don't get out much, do you?" Grantaire asked, reaching up to adjust the scarf, making Enjolras flinch. "It's okay, though, there's not a whole lot of good and cool things out there. It's mostly just..." he trailed off, and Enjolras filled in.

"Mostly just fighting, and petty shit, and politics."

"Yeah." They sat in silence for a minute, before Grantaire sighed, and leaned sidewards, pressing against Enjolras' side, making him jump up in surprise, and Grantaire sighed, taking another drink from the flask. "Okay, sorry." 

Enjolras backed away, before turning quickly away and heading for his door as Grantaire reached up for his blindfold to pull it down. "Hang on, wait," he called, and Grantaire sighed, blinking in the light, turning his gaze slowly to Enjolras, though he could only see the back of his head.

Enjolras gripped the doorknob tightly, gritting out a, "What?" Through his teeth, and he heard Grantaire stand up, but not take a step forwards.

"Really, seriously," Grantaire said after a moment, "You've seen me. How bad can it be?" And with a step, he was there, his hands on Enjolras' shoulders, comforting, but not assuming, and Enjolras felt a lump in his throat. "I don't even know your name, man," he added, and Enjolras bolted, but not after telling him. 

"It's Enjolras," he blurted, slamming the door shut behind him.


End file.
